Warnings: fluff, maybe a swear word? but really just entirely fluff
Prompt: AU. Painter reader and Mechanical engineer student Dean Winchester. Reader decides that Dean gets to be her canvas today.
A/N: Betad by @taste-of-dean like two weeks ago, this fic has just been sitting waiting for me to post it but I got sidetracked by phxcon.
Y/N was in her favorite button down - the one that was covered in oil and acrylic colors, flicked, smeared and dotted in all different places. It was previously her fathers, though she had stolen it from his closet when she took her first art class her freshman year of high school. Dean always knew what was happening when she wore it.
I have been sitting on this one for a while. Pardon the wait, anon? This deserved more than a few lines.
Initially, not so much. Davos was one of the better-adapted characters right through season four, with many of his scenes capturing the spirit of the character even as the plot showed signs of broader misinterpretation in adaptation. What few problems I had were, for the most part, directly caused by the poor understanding of Stannis’ character.
And then, in season five, show!Davos started to go off the rails.
Rescuing a Picasso was, it was true, not entirely within the realm of Avengers business. When it was stolen, however, Steve was appalled and personally offended, and he somehow wrangled permission from the FBI to work the case. Clint got sent along as his minder, which was okay, since it turned out one of the FBI guys had a friend named Mozzie who was the best entertainment ever.
Still, it wasn’t all laughs; what Neal thought would be an easy recovery turned south fast when it became evident that the thief, who had been a normal human being when Neal knew him, had joined Hydra sometime in the last few years and was starting a stockpile of “degenerate” art he was planning to publicly burn.
“You know, I genuinely did not expect supervillains,” Neal said, crouched behind a crate containing a priceless granite sculpture, which was currently being shot at by Hydra’s art division, for the love of God.
“THIS IS A BRANCUSI, YOU MONSTERS,” Steve yelled, and threw his shield. There were two grunts and a clang.
“As battle cries go, I’ve heard worse,” Neal allowed, as Steve stood up to catch the shield before crouching again. “How many more are there?”
“Goddamn Nazis and their goddamn art looting, does this look like a salt mine to you,” Steve muttered to himself. “There’s two more hiding behind what looks like a Klee nude in the corner.”
“Oh, that’s a fake,” Neal said.
“For sure?” Steve asked.
“Yep, painted it myself, I recognized it.”
“Good,” Steve said grimly, and threw the shield again. There was the sound of tearing canvas, then a gurgling scream. Steve put out an arm and caught the shield, then bounced to his feet.
“All clear,” he said to Neal, who stood and dusted himself off just as the roll door of the warehouse opened.
“Neal?” Peter called. “Captain Rogers?”
“All good here!” Neal said, as Steve stowed the shield on his back. “Just Nazi art loot.”
Peter looked around, sighed, and then said, in an aggrieved tone, “Again?”
Last night we slept next to the ocean. I lied awake in my top bunk with a headache and stomach cramps, an inability to sleep also brought on by my dear thousand worries that all decided to visit me at the same time. On the top bunk of the van the walls are canvas, and the sounds of the loudest waves filled my head. It sounded like I was an ant under the lane of a bowling alley. My dear thousand worries calmed a little more with every wave. Like the ocean reminding me to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out.
(A/N) So request fulfilling is not something I do very well. I’ll take them from time to time but I’m really bad with dead lines. I try but things always end up happening. Anyway, @thebadchic asked me to write this. Hope you like it!
Warnings: Cursing, smut, choking, jealousy Word Count: At least two Summary: When Finn Balor finds Samoa Joe flirting with his girlfriend after her match, he takes it upon himself to make sure everyone in the locker room knows who she belongs to.
I meant to ask Feysand fluff fic I'm made you a cake
See my favorite thing as a writer is to write something totally off base of what might be expected from these prompts… I think I did that with this one… hope this is fluffy enough, friend. I’m kind of obsessed with it.
Feysand + “I made you a cake”
“Mor, have I ever told you how much I completely and totally loathe you?”
“Oh quit being dramatic,” Rhys’s cousin snapped from where she stood between him and Azriel, her hand in his. “You’re the one who said you wanted a night out downtown with all of us!”
“I meant a night out drinking, Mor. Drinking. Alcohol. The cheap kind. And lots of it, preferably.”
“There will be alcohol!”
“Yeah Rhys, didn’t you read the pamphlet?” Cassian sauntered up to his friend, hooking an arm around his shoulder. “‘Wine and Canvas Painting.’ Sounds delightful, right? A real party. I mean I personally am gonna get so– ow! Quit it!”
Mor leaned over and pinched Cassian in the side to which he yelped.
“Don’t make fun,” Mor hissed. “My friend Feyre is still in the early stages of starting her own business, and I want to support her. And you guys support me, thus, we’re going to drink wine and paint some damn canvases or so help me you two will–”
“We’re here,” Azriel cut in smoothly.
Mor gave Rhys and Cassian one last glare that would have sent other men running before sauntering up the steps and opening the door to a little shop with an overhanging sign that read, “Velaris.”
“That’s a weird name,” Rhys grumbled to himself as he followed after his friends.
Once they were inside and had taken off their coats, Rhys glanced appreciatively at the space inside. It was… nice, he would give it that. Spacious and warm and full of light.
Mor’s friend - Feyre - apparently owned this little studio and taught art classes all throughout the week. And every other Friday she taught a 21 and up class where they served wine while doing canvas paintings.
And Mor, being Mor, thought it would be a great idea to do that this very weekend instead of going out to their favorite bar, the Illyrian, like they usually did.
“Well where is this friend of yours?” Cassian grumbled. “And where is the wine? If I’m doing this I need to be drinking.”
Rhys and Azriel laughed, but quieted instantly when Mor glared at them.
“She’s probably setting up or something. But her sister and Amren are over there, come on.”
“Amren’s here?” Azriel paled. Mor ignored the other two as they snickered and walked ahead.
“Amren! Nesta!” She called out. Two girls in the back row whipped their heads around.
Rhys recognized Amren, the terrifying woman that Mor had introduced him to a few times. The other one, Nesta, must be Feyre’s sister.
Amren just looked the boys up and down and huffed before turning back around in her seat.
Nesta rolled her eyes at Amren and gave Mor a forced smile. “Hey,” she said without much enthusiasm.
Mor went to reply and sit in the open seat next to Nesta, but the next thing they knew Cassian had practically shoved her aside and was careening to sit beside the young woman.
“Well hello there,” he said in his charming voice. “I’m Cassian. And you are?”
Nesta just stared at him, completely unaffected.
“You literally just heard her say my name,” she deadpanned. She looked back over at Mor. “Mor, who the hell is this guy?”
“I’m sorry.” Mor just rolled her eyes. “I told them to be on their best behavior, but I only have one of them trained.” Azriel narrowed his eyes at her but she only giggled and moved to sit down beside Amren and Azriel followed suit on her other side.
“Oh I can be on my best behavior,” Cassian continued, clearly not taking the hint. “I can be on whatever sort of behavior you want, sweetheart.”
He leaned in close to Nesta, giving her his best seductive look.
She was thoroughly unimpressed.
“Get your face the hell away from my face before I break it.”
Cassian’s brow shot up in surprise and Azriel and Rhys both snorted in laughter. His surprise soon turned into wicked delight.
“Oh just wait sweetheart, you’ll learn to love my face. In fact I’ll bet you’ll be painting it before the night is over. Or perhaps if my charm really sways you, you might even be s–”
“Do not finish that sentence and do… not… call me sweetheart,” Nesta seethed.
Rhys was just about to go sit on the other side of Azriel to avoid all of… that, when someone bumped into him from behind.
“Oh, oh I’m so sorry! I just… well I can’t really see right now so…”
Rhys turned to the voice only to be met with a stack of canvases stacked way too high for one person to be carrying. The stranger’s face was hidden behind the stack and it was clear she couldn’t see anything in front of her. He chuckled.
“Do you need some help there?” He offered.
“Nope!” The female voice chirped brightly. “Nope I am perfectly fine. Just fine.”
“Really?” He drawled. “Well then by all means, continue your trek.”
The person froze.
“Right. Yes. Continuing now.”
The woman turned slightly to the left, then slightly to the right. She took a small step forward only to bump into Rhys’s other shoulder.
“Dammit,” she hissed under her breath.
Rhys laughed openly, reaching forward to take half the stack off of her hands.
“Here, allow me.”
When the stack was considerably lowered, Rhys finally saw the stranger’s face - and felt like he had been sucker punched.
With her eyeline free now, the girl blew a stray strand of messy hair away from her face. Her eyes were blue-gray and absolutely stunning. She had a single purple streak of paint on her cheek that he had a feeling she had no idea was even there.
And then she smiled up at him.
“Thanks,” she said, clearly not noticing that he wasn’t even breathing. “Are you here for the class?”
“I uh…” he stumbled, unable to tear his eyes from hers.
What the hell was wrong with him, he didn’t get nervous around girls? Especially not ones with paint on their face and a stubborn attitude to boot.
“Feyre!” Mor shouted suddenly, and the next thing Rhys knew his cousin was shoving him out of the way to give the woman an awkward hug over the canvases she held.
“Hey, Mor,” she said in a strained voice, giving Rhys a look that said ‘save me’ over Mor’s shoulder.
“I told you we would come.” Mor pulled back with a grin. “I brought Az, who you know, and then Cassian is the one over there about to get his balls ripped off by your sister, and it looks like you’ve already met my cousin, Rhys.”
“Yeah we… ran into each other,” Feyre said, smiling over at Rhys.
He could’ve died a happy man right then.
“Well I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get the class started,” she continued apologetically.
“Oh it’s fine,” Mor said quickly as Feyre started to make her way up to the front of the room. Rhys followed awkwardly with his half of the canvases. “Oh and happy birthday!” Mor shouted suddenly.
Feyre froze, whirling towards Mor but running into Rhys yet again.
“It’s your birthday?” Rhys asked, his head cocked to the side.
Feyre paled. “Yes, but don’t say anything else please. I hate celebrating my birthday, it’s just so awkward.”
Rhys grinned, his earlier awkwardness melting away and turning into his usual suave because now he had an in with this girl.
“My lips are sealed Feyre, darling,” he said softly as he sat down his stack of canvases and stepped closer to her. She looked up at him a bit nervously.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself since my cousin thought she needed to do it for me,” he said smoothly, extending his hand. “I’m Rhysand.”
He noticed her shiver and grinned a bit wider.
“Feyre,” she replied, taking his hand. “Feyre Archeron. And please don’t call me darling.”
Rhys laughed, walking backwards towards his seat.
“Whatever you say, Feyre, darling.”
“You know if you keep calling me darling I’ll have to come up with a name for you too. How about prick?”
Ohhhh, he liked this girl already. His smile said as much.
He finally made it back to his seat, plopping down next to Azriel. Cassian and Nesta were still at each other’s throats.
Rhys was watching Feyre as she set up her own easel when Mor leaned across Azriel and pinched his arm.
“Ouch! What, Mor?”
Mor grinned like a fox.
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
“You… you planned this?”
Mor only laughed, leaning back in her seat and grabbing the glass of red wine in front of her as she spoke to Amren. Rhys looked at Azriel incredulously.
He just shrugged as if to say, ‘what can you do?’
The class started, and Rhys found himself captivated by Feyre yet again. She spoke about painting reverently, it was clear this was her passion. Her eyes lit up and her voice took on a tone he could listen to for the rest of his life.
Then when the actual canvas painting began, she walked around the room and answered questions, helping here and there. She stopped by Rhys’s row a couple of times, but only long enough to chat with her sister, Amren, or Mor before skittering off to another place in the room.
Rhys huffed as she avoiding his gaze for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Mor giggled. “The chase not working out how it usually does for you, cousin?” She teased.
“Neither is his painting,” Azriel murmured.
Rhys cursed his brother, elbowing him in the side.
“What do you mean?” Mor asked. “What’s wrong with your… Rhysand!” She shouted, leaning across Azriel and smacking him in the chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Stop hitting me!” Rhys hissed. The rest of the class - and Feyre, he observed - was watching them. “And mind your own business. I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh do you?” Mor drawled. “Well then by all means, show us your wooing skills.”
Before Rhys could say another word, Feyre had sauntered up right next to him.
“Everything okay back here guys?”
“Oh yes,” Mor said before Rhys could get a word in edgewise. “Az and I were just observing how wonderful Rhys’s painting is.”
Oh Rhys was going to kill his cousin.
“That’s great!” Feyre said enthusiastically, meeting Rhys’s eyes finally.
“Yeah, super great. Go ahead, Rhys.” Mor propped her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Show her.”
“Well, Mor,” he seethed, turning his easel so Feyre couldn’t see his painting. “I actually wanted to show Feyre darling here my painting when the class was over.”
“Oh but it’s just SO good Rhys, show her now.”
“Yeah, show me,” Feyre jumped back in. Rhys melted at her soft smile, feeling a bit like a prick now. “I bet it’s great.”
“Oh for goodness sake.”
Mor leaned across Azriel for a third time, turning Rhys’s easel towards Feyre herself.
Feyre’s jaw dropped when she saw that Rhys had painted a… cake.
A terrible looking cake with blue frosting and candles that looked like sticks. And in black paint he had written across the top, “Happy Birthday, Feyre Darling.”
She was silent for a few seconds and Rhys thought she might have stopped breathing.
“I made you a cake,” Rhys finally said. It sounded infinitely stupider when he said it out loud. “Since it’s your birthday and I just thought… you’re smiling. Is that a good thing? Did I do something right or are you showing me pity?”
Feyre snorted, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I love it,” she said in between her laughter. “I mean it looks… utterly horrendous–”
“Hey now, this is exquisite.”
“But it’s very sweet of you,” she said, meeting his eyes with a genuine smile.
Rhys felt his own lips tilting upward at the corners of their own accord.
“Anything for you, Feyre darling.”
Feyre’s smile dropped and she rolled her eyes.
“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you, you prick. Call me darling one more time tonight and I won’t go out with you when you ask me after class.”
“Oh I’m asking you on a date now, am I?” He asked, mouth turned up in wicked delight.
“Well you better. You already made me cake,” she gestured to the painting. “Now you have to buy me dinner.”
He met her teasing eyes and realized he was already in deep shit and he didn’t mind at all.
@ushibakawaka: aww you’re too cute, this request wasn’t bad at all! I actually really loved it! Thanks for requesting, I hope you like it(:
Genre: don’t be fooled by the summary, this is pure fluff
Word Count: 3K
Summary: In which a tampon, a notebook and a dildo lead Mingyu to his future girlfriend, or a sex addict, either is valid.
Author’s Note: I may have made this a lot weirder than I should but oh whales, I think it’s funny. Do you guys care for profanities by the way? I have a sailor’s mouth constantly, so I never really censor myself but if you guys want me to start putting in a warning please let me know! I don’t want to offend anyone! And just a side note: I’m not going to be able to write every request I get, just because I don’t get inspiration to write from the scenarios that are requested. Don’t be offended! I just suck at being creative sometimes. I do keep the idea in my drafts just in case an idea suddenly pops into my head!
It was a memorizing site. The way he put so much care into each brush stroke, his impeccable eye for detail and how happy he seemed to be in his own little world.
“Teach me?”. Klaus head shifted to his left, you were watching from afar, in his bed to be more precise.
Dipping the paint brush in the black paint, he filled in the empty space on the canvas, before wiping his hands on the cloth. “And what would you like me to teach you, love. How to ride a horse?. Perhaps you’d like to learn a new language?. I’m quite handy with my tongue, 1,000 years experience and all that”. He reached the foot of the bed and swiftly caught the pillow, thanks to his vampire reflexes, that flew in his direction.
“I meant teach me to paint. You 1,000 year old hybrid smart ass”.
“Well come on then, love. We don’t have time to waste”. Excitingly pulling back the covers, Klaus set up a new blank canvas and mixed different paints together. He stood behind you, “Remember, you’re the one who’s in control. Let it come naturally, let the paint brush guide you”.
Choosing the colour red, you painted a straight line in the middle of the canvas. As you were mentally picturing the image you wanted to bring to life, Klaus phone rang. Stepping away it only took moments for him to return with a somber expression. “Figure me, love. That was Elijah and he wants me to come help him deal with a feisty vampire”. Kissing the top of your head, “I’ll be back”.
Half an hour later Klaus returned, but not to how he left everything. By the time he was gone, your painting didn’t turn out the way you had hoped. Canvas after canvas you tried different methods, but none were successful. Half of Klaus room was like a car had rammed into it and you sat cross-legged in the middle.
“And here I thought painting was suppose to be calming?”. Looking at him, you smiled. Dry paint on your face and hands, holding a paint brush with 2 canvas laying in front.
“Yes, to people who know how to paint. I however, suck at it”.
Klaus chuckled, the sound which had the ability to either annoy the living daylights out of you or provide a sense of calmness. Kneeling down, he admired the not so artwork and sat down beside you. “If it was anyone else I would have their heads for ruining my room and painting supplies. But since it’s you, I’ll let things slide”.
“I’m sorry Klaus. I just wanted to surprise you with a painting, like you’ve done for me so many times before”. Throwing the brush aside, although it didn’t land far. “And I’m also really sorry about your room”. Observing the mess that surrounded you and Klaus.
He picked up the painting on his left, the one that was mostly complete. Stood up and maneuvered to an open space on the brick wall. “I must say it looks quite spectacular over here, hanging just below this light”.
“How can you even think about hanging it up, the painting is horrible”.
Klaus leaned the painting against the wall. “Nothing my girl makes is horrible. Y/N this is your art, the one that came to life when you held the paint brush. Yes, it may not be on the same level as mine. Actually no, in fact, it’s way better than mine”. He smirked.
Walking towards him, “Come here”. Cupping his cheeks and standing on your toes to give him a kiss. “We both know the painting sucks, but thank you for suggesting otherwise”. Sliding his arms around you, his foot stepped back and went right through the canvas which caused you to loudly laugh out loud, “I guess I deserve that for literally thrashing your room”.
“I could care less about the room, love. Right now I have more important things to focus on”. He admitted, vamping over to the wall closer to the bed. “Klaus Mikaelson not caring about his painting supplies, I’m shocked”. Replying rather sarcastically.
“Enough chit-chat. I much rather work on your canvas, much more entertaining”.
Tilting your head to the side. “Did you just referring to my body as a canvas?”.
“I did indeed, love. I was hoping to sound romantic”. Klaus yanked your shirt buttons apart, letting the loose material fall around your feet.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Well what are you waiting for? Paint away, this canvas is ready”.
And in no time the other half of Klaus room became an exact replica of the mess you created earlier, just minus the paint.
A friend of mine has just remodel her house and was asking volunteers for decorating her walls. It sounded too tempting to be given a canvas just for fun, and since she is a huge Steven Universe fan, ta-ra~
So, in this pretentious, flamboyant restaurant filled with dignified
people, Ash suddenly climbed atop the table much to Johnny’s (and the
fellow customers) shock. Dark soda knocked over and spilling across the
pearly white canvas in the process as she made her way over to Johnny.
sound of the table jostling and glass hitting the table with a thunk
caused Johnny to look up. Wide brown eyes lifted to hers in obvious
confusion of what exactly was happening yet before Johnny could even
utter a word out of that cute mouth of his, Ash shut him up with her
The shock of feeling’s Johnny’s mouth under hers was shocking
to say the least - for damn, did it feel a helluva lot better than
those previous times the unwarranted thoughts flitted through her brain.
Her hands were less than gentle as she grasped onto the fur on his
cheeks and tilting her head against his mouth.
Ash became instantly aware of two things in that moment - One, this had to be Johnny’s first kiss for he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Two - she didn’t care because it felt that amazing.
It was sloppy; his mouth completely unsure as he maneuvered to try and
perfectly fit it against hers. Ash couldn’t help but smile against his
lips and pull him closer out of sheer need to have his warmth closer.
Large hands trembled only for a second as they skirted firmly over her
hips before grasping lightly onto her sides and back and holding her
tight as she grasped onto him.
One of the first things Alya learned about Marinette was that she doodled flowers when she was bored.
They started off as small, blossoming roses in the corners of her notebooks that weren’t any larger than the tip of her pinky. If you left her to it for long enough, she’d wrap vines, leaves, ladybugs, caterpillars, bees, birds, clouds, and more flowers all around the margins of her book. Sometimes, she’d sneak her colored felt pens and highlighters to school and add in whorls of colors and outlandish patterns until her entire notebook page was covered with fields and gardens and windowsills dripping in plants. She’d always take a picture of it on her phone – to turn it into an embroidery, or a screen print for a t-shirt, or a design for a book cover – and pout pitifully for Alya to send her copies of her notes.
It blended seamlessly into the normality that was Marinette – the color pink, pigtails, the smell of bread, pinpricks on fingertips, different nail polish everyday, humming music under her breath, and doodling flowers in class.
One day, Alya’s hand was right next to Marinette’s notebook, and Marinette continued the doodle from the edge of the page onto the back of Alya’s hand. Alya raised a brow when she started, but shrugged when Marinette asked if it bothered her. As far as idiosyncracies went, Marinette’s were all rather harmless. Besides, it was rather nice to take notes with one hand and feel the light brush of Marinette’s pen sketching away against her other.
It always took three washes in the shower to get all the pen out, and her mother kept worrying her with folk knowledge about skin cancer and ink poisoning, but Alya didn’t like showing up to school the next day with the sketches still on her arm. It almost felt like her duty to give Marinette a blank canvas everyday, to encourage her darling little habits that were secretly the highlight of Alya’s day.
“Why flowers?” she asked Marinette as she added yellows and oranges to the sunflowers she was drawing along the vein inside of her wrist.
Marinette tapped the end of her pen against Alya’s nose. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”
a/n: the coffee shop AU that was requested a few days back, in which katya and sasha are childhood friends and get a job working at a coffee shop with alaska and shea. you know what happens from there. are we ready for a sloooow burn fluff fic? i sure hope so! mother, i’m showing the judges versatility
could you do one with joe where the reader is
drawing on the beach in brighton and joe notices and compliments her and they
start talking and she tells him she’s also from london but she came here
because she wanted to draw the ocean and they take a walk on the beach and they
don’t notice that it’s already evening but he doesn’t want to stop talking to
her so he asks her out?
I’m writing again. Not every day, but more often. At least i’ll try. im still
working through some things so bear with me. also i suck at titles sorry
Your focus remained on
the canvas as the sounds of Brighton flowed around you. You heard the calls of
seagulls, the rushing of waves, the passing of cars, the chatter of people; but
your eyes stayed on the brush that dragged along the linen. You grabbed a different
brush and dabbed it into the yellow paint. You swirled the brush in a sloppy
circle as your eyes darted from the actual sun to the replicate one on the
canvas. Luckily, it was a somewhat of a cloudy day, so looking at the sun
wasn’t too harsh.
As you grabbed the brush
that would recreate the clouds, you heard a voice.
“That’s amazing,” you
turned and looked at the lean boy behind you.
“Thank you,” you smiled.
“Is it a hobby or a
profession?” he asked as he stepped closer.
“Just for fun,” you
turned back and began on the clouds.
“Well, you could
definitely make some money off these,” he said, you could hear the smile in his
“You think?” you
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I
can already see your name on all the billboards in London!”
“You don’t know my
name,” you stated.
“Why don’t you tell me
then,” he eyed you as you sat down your pallet.
“I’m Y/n,” you smiled,
sticking out your hand.
“Joe. Joe Sugg,” he
shook your hand. You took note at how your hands fit together.
“So, Joe.” You chuckled
as you noticed your little rhyme. “What do you do for a living?”
He sat down on the
pebbles and looked up at you, “I’m a YouTuber.”
“Ahh, I see,” you
smirked, picking up your pallet. “You’re one of those kind of people.”
“Oi!” he defended.
“Don’t knock it ’til ya try it.”
You pointed your brush
at him, “Don’t tell me want to do Mr. I have weapons.”
He scoffed, “Please,
paint isn’t a weapon.”
“Oh really? Let’s see
how good it looks on your white shirt then,” you lunged at him.
“Hey!” he jumped away. “Woah!”
You stopped but he
continued to run.
After he was about 10
feet away, he turned back towards you.
“Well are you coming?”
he flashed you a big smile.
“Coming where?” you
“With me, of course!”
“C’mon Y/n! You’re
wasting the night away.” He sighed.
“Its noon,” you laughed.
“Just come on!” he held
out his hand.
You looked back at your
art tools, “What the hell.”
You walked over to him
and took his hand.
You two spent the next
20 minutes walking down the beach and talking.
“I grew up in a small
village, but I wanted the experience of living in a big city. SO I moved to
London,” he explained as you two walked past a small family.
“No way!” you gasped.
“What?” he looked over
“I live in London too!”
“Small world,” he chuckled.
“So what brings you to
Brighton?” you asked, swinging your hand.
“Sister,” he said. “I
come down every now and then to see her and her boyfriend.”
“And to film videos?”
“That too,” he chuckled.
“How about you? What brought you, the mysterious artist, to Brighton?”
“You think I’m
mysterious?” you looked over at him.
“A little,” he smiled.
“But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Well, if I answer it I
won’t be mysterious anymore!” you giggled.
“Fine,” he sighed
“But seriously, I came
for this.” You motioned around you two. “The ocean. I actually didn’t go to a
beach until I was about 15.”
“What? That’s crazy,” he
“I know!” you agreed.
“Have you drawn it
before?” he asked.
“No, I just got into a
drawing about a year or two ago actually,” you nodded, recalling the memories.
“Really? What got you
“I actually hated art
growing up, but then in college I was sitting on the grass and was too bored to
study. So I started sketching my dream wedding dress,” you chuckled. “Ever
since, it’s been my safe haven.”
“You’re really good at
it,” he looked over at you again, taking in every inch of your face.
“Thanks,” you met his
eyes, then the sky behind him. “Holy crap. What time is it?”
He grabbed his phone
with his free hand it clicked it on.
“Uh, about half past 9,”
he looked up at you and chuckled.
“Crap,” you looked
around. “Where are we?”
“I’m sure if we keep
walking we’ll find your art stuff.”
“I just hope it wasn’t
stolen,” you whispered.
He rubbed the back of your
hand, “hey, don’t stress. If anything was stolen, I’ll buy it.”
“You don’t have to do
that,” you sighed.
“I mean, I am the reason
you left it.”
“But I don’t regret it,”
you looked at him through your lashes.
He looked ahead and
smiled, “There it is.”
“Oh thank god!” you
untangled your hand from his and ran over to your set up. You began packing it
up, making sure nothing was stolen.
A few moments later he
appeared behind your canvas.
“Listen,” he started. “I
really like you and I hope you like me too.”
“I do,” you interrupted.
“So would you like to go
on a date when we get back to London?”
You grabbed a piece of
paper from your bag, “I’ll be back next Monday.”
He took the paper that
had your number scribbled on it and smiled.
“Can’t wait,” he smiled
as he walked towards the town.
You looked at your half
Who knew the sea wasn’t the
only good thing about visiting Brighton.
V listening to classical versions of pop songs to get back to its core
V with synesthesia and seeing colours, scenes and images in every note.
V seeing sadness in the piano versions of love songs and fiddling with his camera
Jumin needing to know the meaning of every piece; its context, why it was composed and how it might have sounded to its original composer
He looks up the lyrics and explores its context
Jumin listening to music and feeling-momentarily- less complicated. He is at his most vulnerable during certain concerto pieces
Jumin uses music to safely explore passion and love and other concepts that only serve to complicate his life or leave him feeling awkward and uncomfortable otherwise.
He relates to the depth of feeling in music where he cannot real people the majority of the time
Similarly, I imagine he cannot get into the experimental versions of classical songs or poppy stuff, but likes the classical covers of them like V does
Jumin feeling goosebumps during certain versions of Stars, All I Ask of You and I Dreamed a Dream but not knowing why
There are definitely copies of the novelizations of Les Mis and POTO on his shelf
Jumin and V disagreeing heartily over their favourite versions of certain songs because Jumin feels the singer sang it completely out of line with the mood of the scene but V loves it because they hit every note perfectly.
hahaha and that silly snoring sound in ‘Sleep talking’ lol. Usually, those sounds just endure for seconds and then start to blend with the song. Since Baekho is my favorite I like to think it’s some kind of signature and some creative method to develop a concept, which really amazed me.
Okay first of all this is nOT MY FAULT if you wanna blame someone for this edgy ass fanfic blame @splatoon-jim
*THIS TAKES PLACE WHEN WILL AND DAMIEN ARE TEENS AROUND 16-17 YEARS OLD*
So yeah enjoy your angst (+ little bit of fluff) filled fanfiction you heathens
Will rung his hands nervously and paced the hall outside his friends door, thoughts clouded his mind of the times they had together and he stopped and shook his head to clear the tears in the corners of his eyes, then continued his pacing “I can’t do this…I can’t just ruin everything because of some stupid thoughts. I-I’ll forget it…Yes. I’ll pretend I’m fine, I’ve always been good at that.” The boy murmured and then spewed more nonsense about his best friend, Damien.
“No no no. I have to. I have to tell him I can’t keep it a secret anymore.” He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, but received no answer. He knocked again, and again, and again. Nothing. “Damien?” The boy called out, and when he received no answer he opened the door. His friend’s room was painted a deep blue and across from the door was a big bed with grey checkered sheets. Boxes littered the room, as Damien had just moved into this new house about a week and a half ago. Because of this factor, the room was a blank canvas. Blank of Damien, mostly. Then he heard the sound he knew all to well, the boys voice, mumbling something to himself that Will couldn’t quite make out from across the room. “Dames?” He asked what seemed to be just thick air, as he stepped around the boxes toward the noise.
He ended up in front of the responsible one’s bathroom door and without hesitation, swung it open. But as soon as his eyes met the crumpled figure on the floor his heartbeat quickened. Damien, his best friend, was rocking back and forth while he stared at a bottle of painkillers, and mumbled deprecations to himself. “They don’t need you. They’re using you. Using you for attention. Using you. Using me…”
Wilford didn’t know what to do, he always saw Damien as strong and carefree; the responsible one out of the four of them. “Damien…” he spoke softly as to not scare the boy, but Damien kept rocking back and forth as if Will wasn’t there. “End it. Better to end it. No point in going on if nobody cares. Fuck up fuck up fuck up I’m such a fuck up…” Then he stood up, opened the bottle of pills, and sprayed out through thick sobs “I’m sorry dad. I’m sorry I failed you. Sorry.” And before Wilford could put two and two together, Damien tilted the bottle into his mouth and swallowed.
In a panicked frenzy, the one in the doorway launched himself after his best friend and spun him to the toilet, using one hand to shove his finger down Damien’s throat and the other too hold the struggling boys hands behind his back, making the teen cough up the pills he had swallowed and shove Wilford off of him. “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! IT WAS OVER I WAS GONNA BE FREE I WAS FINALLY GONNA BE FREE!” Damien shouted, hot tears pouring down his face, and all Will thought to do was hug him.
Hug the poor boy, and cry into his shoulder “D-Damien…Please…” he choked out, holding the warm body closer “Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me like this.” He burred his face into the others neck until he spoke “Why?” Damien asked “Why stay, why stay here, in this hellhole, where nobody cares about me. Where people use me to make themselves feel better.” Will pulled away, hurt that his friend hadn’t told him of these thoughts “We do care Dames. All of us ca-” “Stop. I know you don’t.” Damien smiled “And that’s okay. You won’t have to deal with me anymore, just leave me be for a minute and I’ll be gone.”
The hurt in Will’s chest shifted to pain and anger “NO DAMIEN. I’M NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU HERE TO FUCKING DIE. I’M NOT GOING TO LOSE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN MY LIFE BEFORE I EVEN GET TO TELL HIM I LOVE HIM!” As soon as the words flooded out of the boys mouth he clasped his hand over it, this was a mistake. All of this was a mistake. “S-Stop pitying me Wilfred…” Damien’s voice shook “Its not…its not nice to mess with people like that…” he whispered and Will shook his head “Dames. I’m not messing with you, what would I have to gain from hurting someone so dear?”
Damien took a deep breath “Prove it then.” He didn’t have to say it twice, Will walked over to his best friend and grabbed the boys face in his hands, then he kissed him. Wilfred was kissing Damien, his crush of so long, and he never thought that it would be in a dusty old bathroom but he was happy to call that his first kiss. Damein tasted like kiwi to Will, a sweet fruit, one of his favorites and he could swear his heart was beating faster and faster by the minute, there lips fit like two lost puzzle pieces, and it was over to soon.
“So y-you actually-” Will nodded and looked down to hide the blush spread across his face “I feel the same.” He heard and looked up with wide eyes, it must have been a trick right, something he misheard. “I’m sorry…what?” Damien smiled, a smile that always melted Will’s heart “I said, I love you Wilfred.” Then he buried his face in the others chest and hugged him tightly, breaking back down into sobs “I’m so sorry Will I’m so so sorry its just…” Will played with his hair and smiled “No need to apologize. Its okay. You’re okay.” And to Will, the sobbing boy in his arms was all that mattered.